The Elves of Cintra (Book 2 of The Genesis of Shannara)

In seconds he had reached the lower levels and was charging along the corridors that led to the tunnels. He could hear shouts and cries behind him, the sounds of a pursuit being mounted. He could hear the pounding of feet coming down the stairs after him. He didn’t slow. He wished he could have had a chance to look around the front gates, to see if there was any trace of Hawk and Tessa. But that wouldn’t be possible now. Besides, he knew in his heart that whatever had happened to them wasn’t the sort of occurrence that left clues. Magic like that—and he was convinced by now that it was magic—made a clean sweep of everything it touched.

He gained the entry to the underground tunnels and passed through, slowing now as a concession to the darkness, using the glow of the runes off the staff to guide him. The gloom was thick, but not complete, and his eyes adjusted quickly. He moved through the tunnels as swiftly as he could, but he had to take enough time to make certain he did not turn down the wrong branch. He became aware that no one was following him. Given up, he mused, to pursue more important matters. Like finding a way to stay alive.

At the end of the tunnel and the door leading out into the bus shelter, he stopped to listen, to reassure himself that no one lay in wait.

Then he slipped outside, climbing the steps to where he could look around and see what was happening.

The open spaces surrounding the compound were filled with men pouring through the gates and moving down the streets toward the waterfront, all heavily armored and armed. A pair of ancient mobile Scorpion attack vehicles were chugging along behind them, their huge cannons pointing the way. He hadn’t seen one of those since his days with Michael, had thought them all extinct. They fired armor-piercing shells and starburst canister alike. They could sink any of the approaching boats with a single shot, but it would take an awful lot of single shots to make a difference.

Out on the open waters of the bay, the booming of the drums continued, a steady throbbing in the night.

He watched the activity for a moment, all of it heading away from him, and then slipped from the shelter and moved back across the rubble-strewn ground to where he had told Panther to wait for him. The black staff throbbed softly in his hand, and the heat of the magic still roiled within him. He felt hot and cold at the same time, a response to the mix of emotions warring within him. At least he hadn’t been forced to hurt anyone. He wished just once the people in the compounds would listen to his warnings about the demons and once-men. It wasn’t his problem, but he wished it anyway. It was hard enough tracking down and destroying the slave camps without knowing that those he set free could easily be replaced by the men and women and children of the compounds, fresh fodder for the Void’s extermination machine.

He hated even thinking about it. A world turned mad and its people turned victims. But maybe the boy Hawk, a gypsy morph born of wild magic, could make the difference.

He reached the edge of Pioneer Square, expecting to find Panther, but there was no sign of him. He called his name softly, knowing that the compound inhabitants probably couldn’t hear him if he screamed it, but cautious nevertheless. No answer. He looked around. Nothing moved.

He stood alone in the empty street, wondering what to do next.





Chapter TWO


SPARROW CROSSED THE ROOF of their building in a rush, intent on reaching the stairs and getting down to the street as quickly as she could manage it.

The moment she realized what the lights on the water were, she realized as well the danger they were all in. It would take the invaders awhile to get ashore, but as soon as they did they would go hunting for strays like her.

She had heard the stories from her mother and seen the results. The hunters of humans were mad things, beasts with claws and teeth and hair, predators. Street kids were a favorite prey. The other Ghosts had to be warned.

But just as she reached the stairwell and was preparing to start down, she heard footsteps coming up. They were heavy and rough, and no attempt was being made to hide their approach. She stopped where she was, listening. The footsteps did not belong to the Ghosts or even to the Knight of the Word. Or to anything human, she added quickly.

She backed away from the opening, both hands tightening around the slim metal length of her prod. Then she heard deep, guttural voices from the darkness below, voices harsh enough to override even the heavy tread, and she froze.

Croaks.

Her mind raced as she tried to think what to do. She did not want to have to fight her way past Croaks. They were slow and not particularly smart, but they were enormously strong. If they got their hands on her, she was finished. She stared into the black of the stairwell and took another few steps back. She did not know whether she should chance trying to get down to a lower level where there might be somewhere better to hide, or stay where she was. If she was lucky, they might lose interest and go away. If not, if they came all the way up, she was in trouble. She glanced around quickly. Thereof was open and mostly flat save for a handful of small mechanical housings and the debris from their catchment system. There was almost nowhere to hide. She turned back to the stairs helplessly. There was no other way off the roof.